


Thanks for the Memories

by enjolrolo



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Car Accidents, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Men Crying, Post-it Notes, There's A Tag For That
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-04-01 03:44:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4004560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enjolrolo/pseuds/enjolrolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His vision cleared enough to make out Enjolras’s tense expression, and his friend continued talking, still without a greeting. “You really need to start answering your phone."</p><p>Courfeyrac snorted, though he was starting to get a little uneasy. Enjolras was only this abrasive when he was nervous, and if it was two in the morning, that meant that Combeferre should be home. “I was asleep. What’s up?"</p><p>“I’m giving you a ride to the hospital.” Enjolras’s hands were shaking as he gestured over his shoulder. Courfeyrac’s fairly good mood disappeared immediately, and was replaced with dread. “There was a car accident.”</p><p>--</p><p>After the accident, things aren't the same between Courfeyrac and Combeferre.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Courfeyrac wrote "there are leftovers" on a sticky note and then slapped it onto the fridge next to two other notes reminding Combeferre that he can’t live on coffee alone. No one knew exactly when Courfeyrac’s obsession with sticky notes had begun, and Courfeyrac wasn’t really sure either, but he only other person he left them for, besides himself, was Combeferre. A wall of Combeferre's bedroom was quite literally covered in notes from when they both needed to take a break during finals week and had had nothing else to do.

Courfeyrac had started leaving notes for his boyfriend when Combeferre had forgotten to eat more than twice in the space of a day. The first note had been stuck to the mirror in the bathroom, and was probably still there. The notes had accumulated, and were scattered around the apartment haphazardly.

Once Courfeyrac had gotten his crap together and asked Combeferre out on a date, the notes evolved into cheesy love poems and the like. Combeferre loved the attention, even if he rolled his eyes at the notes. That much was obvious, because Combeferre disliked clutter that wasn’t necessary, but he left the notes up everywhere.

At the moment, Combeferre was driving back from his parent's house. He'd called before dinner, and said that he was about three hours out, so Courfeyrac planned on staying up and watching TV until he got home. He was already falling asleep, but the couch was close enough to the front door that he'd hear it open.

 _The Help_ was on, so Courfeyrac stretched out and watched it sideways. It turned out that it was censored, badly, so Courfeyrac vaguely heard Octavia Spencer say a poorly-edited "Eat my spit" before he accidentally drifted off to sleep.

 

He was awakened by a loud, persistent knocking at his door. Courfeyrac, who was facedown in a pillow, groaned and rolled onto his side. Had Combeferre lost his key again? One of these days, someone would find one of the lost keys and just walk into the apartment.

The knocking resumed again, and it sounded much too rapid and aggressive to be Combeferre, so Courfeyrac made himself get up, turn off the TV, and at least attempt to be hospitable.

On his way, he glanced into Combeferre’s bedroom and didn’t see any sign of disturbance, which meant that it was before midnight. Combeferre was very good at estimating what time he would be home, and Courfeyrac couldn’t be bothered to check a clock at the moment, so that would have to do.

After a danger-fraught, mostly-blind trip through the apartment, Courfeyrac ran a hand through his hair, rubbed his eyes, and opened the door. “It’s at least eleven PM, I hope you’re happy,” he said in the general direction of his front step. His eyes were having a rough time adjusting to the harsh light of the hallway. Nobody ever robbed student apartments anyway.

“It’s two,” snapped a voice, and Courfeyrac recognized Enjolras immediately.

“Hel-lo to you too.”

His vision cleared enough to make out Enjolras’s tense expression, and his friend continued talking, still without a greeting. “You really need to start answering your phone.”

Courfeyrac snorted, though he was starting to get a little uneasy. Enjolras was only this abrasive when he was nervous, and if it was two in the morning, that meant that Combeferre _should_ be home. “I was asleep. What’s up?”

“I’m giving you a ride to the hospital.” Enjolras’s hands were shaking as he gestured over his shoulder. Courfeyrac’s fairly good mood disappeared immediately, and was replaced with dread. “There was a car accident.”

Courfeyrac felt that like a literal punch to the stomach, but there had to be some kind of miscommunication. Enjolras hadn’t said any names, that meant that there was a chance. “Ferre’s a great driver. There’s no way he would--”

“It wasn’t his fault, there was a drunk driver.” Enjolras stepped forward and pulled Courfeyrac into a hug, tight enough to make it even harder to breathe, like that would somehow soften the blow. “He’s going to be okay. Do you want me to tell you what I know or let a doctor explain it?”

Courfeyrac didn’t even cry, and let Enjolras hug him. He couldn’t bring himself to reciprocate. Was he going into shock? It was hard to tell. “No, go ahead.”

“Okay. It sounds like his left collarbone is broken, a few of his ribs cracked, and he had a head injury.” Enjolras stepped back, and talked even faster than usual. “They put him under for a little while, and the doctor said he might have some memory loss, though that’s hard to tell until he wakes up.”

“Did you leave him there alone?”

Enjolras frowned. “You weren’t answering your phone, and they wouldn’t let me see him, anyway.”

Later, Courfeyrac could hardly remember walking down to Enjolras’s car. He only remembered focusing on the words “memory loss” and not being able to form words. Finally, when they both had their seatbelts on, Courfeyrac got out the words, “Short or long term memory?”

“They don’t know. Probably only short term, unless it turns out to be a more severe injury than they thought.” Enjolras seemed just as shaken as Courfeyrac, as Combeferre was one of his best friends too, but at least Enjolras could still function. After a brief moment of hesitation, Enjolras reassured, “He’s not going to forget you.”

“We only met a year ago,” Courfeyrac pointed out, and realized that this was the reason why the idea of Combeferre losing his memory was so terrifying to him.

“Combeferre is really tough. It’ll work out,” Enjolras sounded like he meant it, so Courfeyrac didn’t pursue the subject.

 

When they arrived at the hospital, Enjolras took Courfeyrac’s elbow and guided him through the hospital in a complicated path, presumably to pass under notice of some strict nurses. They were almost to Combeferre’s room--Enjolras pointed it out and everything--but then a really scary-looking doctor stepped into their way and sent them back to the waiting room.

Courfeyrac sat in a chair in the small room, staring at his hands and trying to project thoughts at Combeferre, telling him to be okay and not to forget about him. Enjolras was next to him, clutching his hand, though Courfeyrac hardly noticed.

When Courfeyrac finally looked at Enjolras’s hand in his, Enjolras cracked a partially hysterical smile and said, “I’m going to try to fight someone if I don’t hold your hand, is that okay?”

With a shrug, Courfeyrac turned his attention back to developing his telepathic skills. Something about it was comforting.

 

When a doctor entered the waiting room a while later, Courfeyrac and Enjolras both sprang to their feet. Their joined hands were the only things keeping each other from tackling the doctor for information, though they quickly separated and walked over.

“Are you here for Étienne Combeferre?” The doctor, whose tag said Dr. Sanford, had a reedy voice and a terrible comb-over. Courfeyrac was just in an overall negative mood and he wasn’t the best person for critiquing someone’s appearance at the moment, but the guy didn’t seem like someone Courfeyrac would ever want to be friends with.

Courfeyrac nodded jerkily, and saw Enjolras do the same.

“How are you related to Étienne?”

A few different titles went through Courfeyrac’s head--Best friend? Boyfriend?--but what came out was “I’m his roommate.”

Enjolras gave him a sideways look, but Courfeyrac kept his eyes trained on Dr. Sanford, and Enjolras eventually said “I’m Combeferre’s best friend. How is he?”

“His injuries will heal, though we believe he’s sustained some memory loss.”

Courfeyrac felt his stomach clench with anxiety. How much memory loss was some memory loss? “Can we see him?”

“Well, we’re only supposed to let family in--”

Courfeyrac blurted, “I’m also his brother in-law.” Which was sort of a lie, because Courfeyrac’s younger sister Beatrix had only dated Combeferre’s younger sister Claudia for six months, which was incidentally how they introduced their older brothers to each other. Beatrix and Claudia were still friends, though Courfeyrac hadn’t talked to his sister in a while.

Of course, the doctor gave Courfeyrac a disbelieving stare, and Enjolras rushed to help. “He doesn’t have any other family around here, there’s no one else who will come to see him.”

Dr. Sanford looked like he might be wavering, and Courfeyrac glanced over at Enjolras, who generally had a very persuasive face. On a good day, Courfeyrac could use puppy-dog eyes like any other self-respecting person, but Enjolras was in his element and looked for all the world like the devastated, exhausted law student that he was.

“One at a time,” the doctor finally grumbled, and Enjolras showered him with many _merci_ ’s and _this means so much_ ’s.

Once Dr. Sanford had left, Enjolras and Courfeyrac looked at each other uncertainly, and Courfeyrac realized something else. “What if Combeferre forgets me?”

Enjolras shook his head. “He won’t.”

“No, but what if he does? I can’t just force him into being in a relationship with me!” Courfeyrac was close to tears, and he could tell that Enjolras saw this.

Enjolras took his hands firmly and didn’t break eye contact. “You’re pretty unforgettable, Courf. If some things have slipped his mind, it’s very, very likely that they’ll come back, though I see your logic and I’ll respect any decisions that you make concerning what you tell him.”

“Can we both go in?” Courfeyrac finally mumbled.

After making a big show of checking to see where Dr. Sanford was, Enjolras nodded and pulled Courfeyrac with him to Combeferre’s room.

Combeferre was propped up on some pillows, with a bandage on one side of his head and his arm in a cast. Courfeyrac thought that he was absolutely beautiful, and he smiled, because Ferre was _alive_.

Enjolras knocked lightly on the open door, and Combeferre looked up, and smiled unsurely, like he was a little confused or in pain. Both were understandable. “Hi, Enj.”

After Enjolras waved, Courfeyrac did so also, and said, “Hi, Ferre!” in a voice that was terribly wobbly. He thought that no one had noticed until he felt Enjolras squeeze his hand.

Combeferre tilted his head a little, furrowed his eyebrows, and asked slowly, “Who are you?”


	2. Chapter 2

Courfeyrac's hand was practically crushing Enjolras’s in a steel grip, but Courfeyrac took a short breath to try and get himself under control. This was hard, because Courfeyrac now knew that Combeferre didn’t know who he was. “I’m--I’m, uh.” His throat was closing up, though in his peripheral vision he saw Enjolras open his mouth to explain for him, and it was now or never. “I’m your roommate. Courfeyrac. I’m just here to check on how you’re doing.”

Combeferre nodded, accepting this explanation without missing a beat. Courfeyrac was finding it increasingly harder to breathe.

Enjolras squeezed his hand, either threateningly or reassuringly, and then cleared his throat. “How are you doing?” he asked Combeferre lightly, to pull attention away from Courfeyrac.

Combeferre shrugged. “I think I’ll be out of here within a day or so. They said I’ve probably forgotten a lot of things, but there’s a high chance it’ll come back. Thanks for coming to see me.”

Courfeyrac bobbed his head rapidly. “Yeah, sure, sure. I’m going to give you two some space. Bye. Feel better,” he ended lamely. He was verging on full-on panic, and the only thing on his mind was getting out of there as fast as possible. On his way out, he tripped over his own feet, but managed to stay upright thanks to sheer momentum.

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” Enjolras called after him.

The hospital was a blur around Courfeyrac as he ran through the halls. He collided with two people and a wall, but there was no time to apologize. If he opened his mouth to talk to someone, he was going to vomit.

He’d been dating Combeferre for almost three months, and now he had to start all over. It was possible he’d never get back to where he had been.

“Hey!” someone yelled as Courfeyrac rushed by and upset a tray of something. Courfeyrac stumbled and hit the ground, hard, mostly out of surprise, and heard some kind of object break as it collided with the tiles as well.

“Man, you’re crazy, running through the halls like that…”

Courfeyrac dragged himself to his hands and knees, feeling tears starting to burn at the back of his eyes. There had to be an elevator around here somewhere, though he was all turned around and didn’t remember where he’d come from.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Getting back to his feet, Courfeyrac ran a hand through his hair and looked around frantically for a sign to direct him to an exit. Instead, he found a nurse with lavender scrubs and a really concerned expression.

“Uh,” Courfeyrac said to the nurse, and they both seemed to realize at the same moment that Courfeyrac was trembling. “Where are the s-stairs?”

“Take the next left. Nobody ever uses them, though. Are you okay?” the nurse repeated, starting to nudge the pieces of broken glass into a pile.

That was an impossible question, but Courfeyrac just nodded. “Thanks,” he said quickly, then hurried towards the stairs at a slower pace than he’d used before.

Once he’d reached the stairwell, he only made it halfway down the first set before he stopped, sat down, and let himself cry. Now that he wasn’t in a frenzy trying to escape, the gravity of the situation hit him.

It had been such a painful experience, not having the courage to ask Combeferre out, being sure that Combeferre wasn’t interested in him at all, and didn’t give him a second glance, ever. Now, that exact thing was true. There was a chance that Combeferre couldn’t get back those memories of Courfeyrac loving him, and that Combeferre wouldn’t remember that he even _liked_ Courfeyrac at all.

His sobbing echoed down the stairwell, and it hurt his throat. He clutched at his hair in his hands and drew his knees up to his chest. It felt like he’d never stop. Someone was bound to stumble on him sooner or later, perhaps literally, but there was no way he was going to be able to calm himself down from this.

The door to the stairwell creaked open a while later, and Courfeyrac immediately clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle his crying. His breathing was heavy, and whoever had just entered the passageway could probably hear it, regardless of how far up they were.

Footsteps approached, then sped up as they got closer. “Courf?” someone asked.

Courfeyrac relaxed his rigid posture a little when he recognized Enjolras, and the hand over his mouth could no longer hide the fact that he was having his heart slowly ripped out of his chest.

Enjolras sat down on the steps and wrapped an arm around Courfeyrac’s shoulders somewhat awkwardly. “We can still tell him.”

“I c-can’t make him like me,” Courfeyrac hiccuped, then turned and crushed Enjolras in a hug. “Thanks for playing along.”

“This whole thing is killing me,” Enjolras said in a low tone, and patted his friend’s back slowly. “I respect your reasoning, but you need to take care of yourself, too.”

“Sure, _Dad_ ,” Courfeyrac mumbled into Enjolras’s shoulder in an awful attempt to lighten the mood.

Enjolras, to his credit, snorted, and didn’t let Courfeyrac go until the latter stopped crying.

 

Courfeyrac called Enjolras at six the next evening, after the time that Enjolras was supposed to be home from the hospital. Enjolras picked up almost right away.

"When’s he coming home?” Courfeyrac asked. He hadn’t moved from his bed all day and was staring at the walls, which were adorned with sticky note reminders.

"They said I can pick him up tomorrow evening.”

“Can you come over? Unless you’re working on something--”

Enjolras laughed, which sounded a little forced, but made Courfeyrac feel a little better nonetheless. “Don’t be ridiculous, I’ll be right over.”

He _was_ right over, and let himself in. Courfeyrac must have forgotten to lock the door.

“Knock knock. What do you need?” Enjolras said from the doorway of Courfeyrac’s bedroom, but Courfeyrac couldn’t smile back at him and ended up looking down at his comforter.

“I need to take down all the sticky notes in Ferre’s bedroom and around the apartment,” Courfeyrac said, and just saying it made him want to cry again. He was such a mess, and was already regretting inviting Enjolras over to witness this.

Enjolras strode over and perched on the bed. “Hey. It’s okay, you can put them back up when he remembers.”

 _If,_ Courfeyrac corrected in his head, and nodded without looking up. _If_ Combeferre remembers.

“I’m going to make you some tea, and then we can tackle his bedroom together. Cool?”

Courfeyrac shrugged, not feeling any energy to get up and do anything. “Cool.”

    

Tea in hand, both of them approached Combeferre’s room fifteen minutes later. Enjolras opened the door, and Courfeyrac shuffled in behind him. Combeferre’s bed was neatly made, there was a huge stack of books on the dresser, and Courfeyrac suddenly got the overwhelming feeling that he was intruding.

Enjolras whistled. “Those are a lot of notes.”

A corner of Courfeyrac’s mouth lifted in a small smile. One wall was covered in rows and rows of sticky notes, there were some on the ceiling, and a few decorated Combeferre’s nightstand. It had taken forever to put them all up.

“How much did these cost?”

“I stole most of them from my sister. She collects them.”

Enjolras laughed. “I’m sure Beatrix loved that.”

Courfeyrac’s smile grew a little, and he stepped over to the wall and began to pull notes off. “She absolutely did. I’m her favorite brother.”

“You’re her only brother.”

“So I’m by default her favorite.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and stepped up onto Combeferre’s bed to reach the notes higher up on the wall. “Why are so many of these just the Starfleet symbol?”

Courfeyrac shot him a look. “Ferre was useless at drawing it and we spent an hour practicing.”

“Of course you did.”

The two of them spent a few minutes in quiet, with the notes piling up on the carpet. Courfeyrac tried not to read the notes, a large amount of which were just “I love you”s, and reminders for dates, and compliments that Courfeyrac wouldn’t be able to tell Combeferre again for a long time.

Perhaps sensing how Courfeyrac’s mood was on the decline again, Enjolras took a sip of his tea and looked at one of the notes. “Did Nichelle Nichols really audition for Spock?”

Courfeyrac glanced over and nodded. “Wouldn’t she have been great?”

Enjolras’s face turned a little pink. “I haven’t seen too much of Star Trek?”

With a grumble, Courfeyrac swiped his hand and cleanly pulled a huge cluster of notes off all at once. “I can’t believe I’m friends with you.”

“I’m glad you are, though,” Enjolras said bluntly, and Courfeyrac looked up at him for a moment.

“Same here,” Courfeyrac finally said, and faked the cheesiest smile he could.

The two of them upped their pace a little, and within twenty minutes had knocked the last one off the ceiling. Courfeyrac looked at the sad pile of notes. “What do I do with them?”

“Put them in your closet? Or under your bed, maybe?” Enjolras suggested, then finished his tea in one huge gulp. “How many more are in the apartment?”

Courfeyrac grimaced. “Too many?”

It took them another hour to track all of the sticky notes down, and by the end of it, Courfeyrac never wanted to see another one again. The last one he removed was the one on the fridge that said “there are leftovers” and he just stared at it for a moment. He felt his throat start to close up again.

There was a hand on his shoulder, and Courfeyrac jumped, then crumpled the note in his hand when Enjolras tried to look at it.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. Instead, he asked, “Want to come over to my place? I have snacks and season one of Once Upon a Time.”

Courfeyrac nodded, and stuffed the sticky note into his pocket. “What snacks, though?” he called as he went to his bedroom to get his coat. “Kale chips?”

Enjolras made a frustrated noise. “I only bought those once, and how was I supposed to know that that was going to be the day that everyone decided to come over?”

“ _Kale chips_ ,” Courfeyrac emphasized, grabbing his key off of his dresser.

“Bahorel said they would be good!”

“Bahorel lied to you.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

The next afternoon, the apartment felt empty and bare, so Courfeyrac packed up his homework, left, and soon found himself in the café on the corner of his street. This was where Grantaire worked part-time, though Courfeyrac wasn’t sure when his friend had his shift. He set his backpack on a table next to the window and pulled out a chair for himself.

He was ten minutes into glaring at his sociology essay when a chair scraped next to him and someone aggressively sat down in it. Courfeyrac yelped and knocked his textbook to the ground, then found Grantaire grinning widely at him.

“You’re terrible,” Courfeyrac told him, and picked up his textbook..

“Terribly beautiful.” Grantaire nodded emphatically, and held up a cup and a snickerdoodle wrapped in wax paper. “I brought you a snack. You doing okay?”

Enjolras had mentioned something about telling Grantaire about Combeferre, so Courfeyrac could safely assume that Grantaire had a grasp on the situation. “The apartment seemed weird and I couldn’t focus. Thanks,” Courfeyrac said, taking the cup. “Is it some kind of health drink again?”

“I was only on that diet for two weeks,” Grantaire said defensively. “It’s a cinnamon spice, fight me.”

Courfeyrac scoffed and took a sip, and it turned out that Grantaire hadn’t lied to him. “Do I have to pay for this?”

Grantaire nodded innocently, which wasn’t a surprise in the least.     

After considering an indignant response, Courfeyrac just laughed and pulled some money out of his pocket before tossing it at Grantaire.

Grantaire collected the cash, then winked. “You’re such an agreeable customer.”

Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow, accepting the challenge, and cleared his throat. “What you did is so unprofessional. And I cannot believe they let you work here, with those tattoos. Why are cool things like those allowed in public! You’re probably an _art student_.” Courfeyrac’s Cranky White Mom voice wasn’t up to full power, but Grantaire looked like he appreciated it nonetheless.

“Listen, Linda, I never liked you or your crusty attitude.” Grantaire shook a fist at Courfeyrac, and then stood up. “I’ll be over here if you want anything else.” He gave a small salute, and retreated back behind the counter.

It was a wonder how easily that cheered Courfeyrac up. Courfeyrac was able to finish half of his essay and some math before his phone emitted the beginning of the Kim Possible theme song and he had to dive to answer it.

He answered with a very calm “Hello?” and sneakily turned his head to make sure that Grantaire had witnessed none of that. Grantaire was giggling into his hand, however, and Courfeyrac knew that it was a lost cause.

“Hi, Courf,” Enjolras said with an amount of cheerfulness that sounded completely artificial. “I have Combeferre here, I’m bringing him home, okay?”

Courfeyrac’s high spirits plunged, and his shoulders slumped. Combeferre was coming home today. He hadn’t forgotten, exactly, more like put it out of his mind for the sake of getting actual work done. Living with Combeferre was going to be the farthest from easy that anything had ever been, and Courfeyrac really didn’t want to do that at the moment. “Oh. Yeah. Okay,” he said quietly, and shoved his textbook and half-written paper into his backpack. “See you soon.”

Enjolras said “See you soon!” in a voice that was no more subdued than the one he’d been using, then hung up.

Courfeyrac tossed his phone into his bag, then swung the bag over his shoulder and picked up his drink. “Thanks, Grantaire,” he said over his shoulder, and pushed open the door.

Grantaire responded, “Thanks for coming have a great day call me later!” and Courfeyrac would have smiled, if he wasn’t at the moment heading to the modern equivalent of medieval torture.

 

Courfeyrac arrived home exactly two minutes before Combeferre and Enjolras, which was enough time for Courfeyrac to put his backpack in his room, have a glass of water, bury his face in a couch cushion, and scream at the top of his lungs for a solid thirty seconds. When he was starting to feel lightheaded, someone knocked on the door.

Courfeyrac smoothed his hair, squared his shoulders, and calmly, collectedly, ran to the door to open it.

Combeferre was standing there, next to Enjolras, like Courfeyrac had somehow forgotten he would be. Courfeyrac looked up at him and smiled crookedly, once the feeling of someone stamping on his chest had subsided. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Combeferre answered, with a polite smile.

Luckily, Enjolras interceded before Courfeyrac could stare at Combeferre for too long. “Hi, Courfeyrac, are you going to let us in?”

If Courfeyrac said no, would Combeferre go away? Courfeyrac didn’t know if it was a risk he wanted to take or not. “Oh, uh, yeah, sorry.” He stumbled over his words, then over his feet as he moved aside. Combeferre reached out with his good arm and steadied him.

“Thanks,” Courfeyrac told Combeferre dazedly, and Combeferre smiled before finally releasing his arm.

Enjolras cleared his throat pointedly and held up one hand, which held a bag of groceries. He was looking at Courfeyrac warningly, and Courfeyrac almost winced with the realization of how bad he was at acting like he and Combeferre were just roommates. “We got these for you, because you’re apparently incapable of going grocery shopping yourself.”

Courfeyrac clutched at his chest dramatically. “You wound me,” he said, then moved to let Combeferre and Enjolras in.

Combeferre looked around curiously, and Courfeyrac remembered that Combeferre didn’t remember a thing about this apartment. “Your room’s that way,” he offered, gesturing down the short hall. “First on the left.”

“Thanks,” Combeferre said, looking relieved, and strode past Courfeyrac. He still smelled like the hospital, and Courfeyrac wanted to kiss him.

When Courfeyrac looked back at Enjolras, Enjolras was shaking his head.

“What?” Courfeyrac demanded.

“You’re hopeless,” Enjolras sighed, then held out the bag of groceries. “Are you going to be okay, or do I need to stay here?”

Courfeyrac groaned. “I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“He only touched your elbow, and you just about melted into a puddle.”

“I think I responded a lot better than you would have in this situation.” Courfeyrac rubbed the elbow in question, then accepted the groceries. “Did you get me some extremely nutritious kale chips, your absolute favorite afternoon snack?”

Enjolras scowled, and stomped out the door again without a goodbye.

 

All was well for a few hours. Combeferre stayed in his room, probably catching up on homework or sleeping. Courfeyrac gave up on his sociology essay entirely, instead electing to climb onto his bed, put on his headphones, and turn up the volume.

He was dozing off when he heard a knock on his door, and he sleepily pulled off his headphones. “Yeah?”

The door opened a crack, and Combeferre stuck his head in. “I made dinner, do you want some?”

Courfeyrac nodded and slid off of his bed, tossing his headphones aside. “Aren’t you concussed?”

“Only mildly,” Combeferre said offhandedly.

“You made dinner with one hand?”

“It was harder than I thought it would be, but yeah.”

Courfeyrac was impressed, to say the least.

The food turned out to be chicken noodle soup and toast. Combeferre handed him a bowl. “Are you okay?” Combeferre suddenly asked, and Courfeyrac stared at him for a second, before cautiously setting the bowl of soup on the counter.

There were several answers that Courfeyrac could give, but he finally gave a strangled “ _You’re_ the one who got hit by a car.”

Combeferre laughed, though it was probably mostly out of surprise, because he winced and his arm wrapped around his ribs. He waved off Courfeyrac’s rushed apologies and clarified. “You just seemed like the high-energy type, but you’ve been sleeping all afternoon and you look sort of flushed, so…”

Courfeyrac’s hands flew to his face, which suddenly felt hot. _Combeferre had noticed that something was wrong._ If he reached out to check Courfeyrac’s temperature, or Combeferre’s hand got anywhere close to Courfeyrac’s face, Courfeyrac was going to literally swoon. That wasn’t even an exaggeration at this point. “I’m just a little under the weather, I’m recovering from a few all-nighters, so.”

“You should try to sleep more,” Combeferre said, sounding for all the world like the dad he dressed like.

Scoffing indignantly, Courfeyrac picked up his bowl of soup again. “You never sleep!”

“We’re not talking about me right now.” Combeferre said calmly.

“What a hypocrite,” Courfeyrac began, but Combeferre had pointedly looked away, so Courfeyrac just rolled his eyes and moved on. “Thanks for the soup.”

“Sure, anytime. I hope you feel better.” Combeferre nodded and grinned, and Courfeyrac’s heart probably skipped a beat.

Courfeyrac’s face hadn’t recovered from blushing earlier, so, if anything, he got even redder. “I’m going to go try and sleep it off. Goodnight.” He sounded rushed and not at all natural, but if he played up being sick, he could probably get away with it.

“Goodnight,” Combeferre reciprocated, sounding somewhat amused.

Courfeyrac was halfway to saying “I love you, sleep well” like what he usually said every night, but he remembered just in time, snapped his mouth shut, and left the room.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Enjolras called him half an hour later. “Are you sick?” he demanded.

Courfeyrac had turned off the light already and was curled up under his covers, feeling generally miserable about his whole situation. “No.”

“Why did Combeferre say you were?” Enjolras softened his tone a little bit, but it didn’t help. Courfeyrac wanted more soup, but that would mean coming face-to-face with Combeferre again.

“I might have looked kind of sick and I maybe didn’t really correct Combeferre when he guessed that I was and I might have just gone along with it so that I didn’t have to be in the same room as him?” It was alarming how unsteady Courfeyrac’s voice was, but he had to tell someone.

“You can’t just avoid all your problems,” Enjolras pointed out.

“I know. This is so hard,” Courfeyrac muttered, and angrily wiped tears out of his eyes. He wasn’t a quiet crier at all, but he had to try to keep it down so that Combeferre wouldn’t hear.

After a brief moment of quiet that allowed him to pull himself together, Courfeyrac asked, “Why were you talking to Combeferre just now?”

“Uh, he’s my best friend?” Enjolras said, like it should have been obvious, then added, “He just had a few questions about everything, like how long he’s lived in this apartment and what times his classes are.”

“Did he talk about me?”

“Yeah. He told me you were sick and asked when he’d met you. He said you seemed kind of sad but he didn’t want to impose or anything because he didn’t really know you,” Enjolras said slowly, though he sounded kind of hesitant to talk about Combeferre behind his back.

Courfeyrac lost any kind of restraint he had on his tears then and buried his head under his pillow to muffle his sobs. He could faintly hear Enjolras, still on the phone, saying hurried “Oh, no, Courf, please--I’m sorry, that was insensitive, oh, no. Please, don’t…” and several variations thereupon until Courfeyrac forced himself to take a deep breath and pick up the phone again.

“I’m so sorry,” Enjolras said sincerely.

Enjolras wasn’t the reason that Courfeyrac was in this mess, so Courfeyrac cleared his throat and answered in a voice that was terribly small. “It’s not your fault, it’s fine. I’m going to sleep…”

“Same here,” the response was immediate, and Courfeyrac suddenly realized that he was being weepy and sort of annoying. Enjolras was probably relieved to have an excuse to hang up, and Courfeyrac didn’t blame him.

 

The next day, Courfeyrac unapologetically pretended to be asleep until after Combeferre left for his morning class at ten, and then dragged himself out of bed and went to the kitchen to find some sort of food. His head ached from all the crying the previous night, and he decided that he was taking the day off.

As he was sitting down on the couch with a bowl of Cheerios, his phone buzzed in his pocket and startled him into almost spilling all of the cereal. As he was setting his breakfast down on the coffee table, his phone vibrated again. “Stop,” Courfeyrac muttered to nothing in particular, and then yanked his cell phone out of his pocket.

He had two new texts, and he was surprised when neither of them were from Enjolras.

One of them was from Joly, and said “I can sense u being sad and this isn’t ok” and the other was from Bossuet, and said “Are you up?????????”

Courfeyrac sent Bossuet an apathetic “pls chill” and then responded to Joly with “I’m fine, good morning to you too” before turning his phone on silent and tossing it aside. He then turned on the TV and resolved to rebuff all further attempts that anyone made to communicate with him.

Unfortunately, just as he was finishing his cereal, someone knocked on his door, and Courfeyrac was raised too politely to simply ignore it. With a heavy sigh, he got up and shuffled to the door.

Bossuet and Joly were standing there, and Courfeyrac wasn’t even surprised. They were both grinning widely, which was a little worrisome, though not out of the ordinary.

“We heard you’re in a funk,” Joly said, and his smile could probably cure any disease all by itself.

Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“Grantaire told us. We came to unfunk you!” Bossuet announced.

“ _What_? Guys--”

“We’re taking you out to lunch.” Joly talked over him. “Is there any place in particular you’d like to go?”  
Accepting that he wasn’t going to win this one, Courfeyrac sighed, and then tried for half of a smile. “Just funk me up.”

 

In an entirely too-energized fashion, Joly lead Courfeyrac and Bossuet to a small old-fashioned diner about three blocks from Courfeyrac’s apartment. Courfeyrac hadn’t even known that it existed, but he appreciated the authentic jukebox in the corner and the pink vinyl adorning everything.

“Isn’t this the cutest thing ever?” Joly whispered enthusiastically as they slid into a booth.

“Besides me?” Courfeyrac asked sarcastically, at the same time Bossuet asked Joly “Except for you?”

Courfeyrac and Bossuet pointed at each other, and then Courfeyrac halfheartedly high-fived Bossuet. Joly was blushing, which still happened every time Bossuet said anything remotely complimentary to him, and picked up his menu to hide his face.

Bossuet picked up his menu as well, and almost immediately yelped, “They have mozzarella sticks!”

“That’s not period-accurate, and is frankly a little cheesy,” Joly said casually, still hiding behind his menu, and Courfeyrac, who was doing the same, snorted.

“Out of any cheese-related humor, you chose ‘cheesy’?” Courfeyrac looked across the table.

Joly giggled, then turned to Bossuet. “Do you want to share a one-pound burger and a malt?”

Bossuet nodded with a delighted expression on his face, then glanced at Courfeyrac. “We’re paying, get whatever you want.”

When a waiter came to their table, Courfeyrac ordered a sundae.

“You’re sharing, right?” Bossuet prompted.

Courfeyrac smirked. “Nah, son.”

Their food arrived a few minutes later, and Joly slid the burger to Bossuet first. “Hey, I have a joke!”

“Go.” Bossuet said, then took a huge bite of the burger. The bite was too big, apparently, because he ended up floundering for a napkin while a tomato slice threatened to spill down his chin. Courfeyrac stared in fascination, and Joly started giggling again.

Courfeyrac turned his attention back to Joly, once the crisis had been averted. “Yeah?”

“Why did the algae and the fungus get married?”

Seeing that Bossuet was still trying to keep food from getting on his clothes and face, Courfeyrac responded for him. “Why?”

Joly started laughing before he could finish the joke, but Courfeyrac finally recognized a breathless “Because they took a _lichen_ to each other!”

Bossuet choked on his food and started coughing, an unhealthy combination that made him gasp for air and reach for the chocolate malt that he and Joly had ordered. “Incredible,” he got out, once Courfeyrac and Joly had done the best to make sure he didn’t die.

Courfeyrac grinned widely at Joly. “How long did it take you to get that one?”

Joly looked pleased with himself. “I found it on the interwebs.”

It took a while for Courfeyrac to finish his sundae, which was huge, and tasted even better than it looked. He only did it so that he could maintain his claim of not sharing at all.

Bossuet seemed impressed when Courfeyrac finished the last bite, so it was really a win-win outcome.

 

After Bossuet and Joly had successfully pulled Courfeyrac around the almost entire town, including the little park near the post office and the bookstore where Feuilly worked, they finally started heading back to Courfeyrac’s apartment.

Joly seemed a little tired out from walking everywhere, and his bad leg started acted up, but his smile never dimmed. Bossuet offered a piggy-back ride. Courfeyrac pointed out that that was a safety hazard.

So Joly ended up on Courfeyrac’s back, and Bossuet hovered to make sure neither of them got injured.

Joly was lighter than he looked, so Courfeyrac was able to maintain an average speed. “Thanks for inviting me,” Courfeyrac eventually said, and Bossuet grinned at him.

“Of course! Are you feeling better?” Joly gushed into Courfeyrac’s ear.

To Courfeyrac’s surprise, he was feeling better, and spun himself and Joly around to express this. Bossuet helpfully reached out and grabbed Courfeyrac’s arm to keep him on his feet, and Joly made a squeaky noise of fear.

“I’m glad to see that?” Bossuet congratulated, once it was clear that Courfeyrac wasn’t going to pitch himself and and Joly into traffic.

Joly wrapped his arms more tightly around Courfeyrac’s shoulders. “Careful,” Joly reminded him cheerfully, and Courfeyrac remembered that Joly trusted him enough to get a piggyback ride from him and that it would be a violation of Sacred Trust to threaten his safety again.

“Sorry,” Courfeyrac said over his shoulder.

Joly patted Courfeyrac’s chest the best he could while holding on for dear life. “You’re fine.”

"Can we come over and do our homework?” Bossuet suddenly suggested.

“I don’t think we're supposed to invite ourselves over to places, babe,” Joly contributed.

Bossuet held out a hand in a please stop motion, and gave Joly a look. “Listen, we gotta keep this dude company.”

Courfeyrac smiled and glanced at Bossuet, who looked back at him and nodded. “In that case, sounds great,” Joly agreed, and Courfeyrac could hear his smile. It was kind of superhuman, how happy Joly and Bossuet were.

When they arrived at Courfeyrac’s apartment, Combeferre’s shoes weren’t by the door. Courfeyrac breathed a deep sigh of relief and let Joly climb down from his back.

“You don’t even have your homework,” Courfeyrac said, just having realized this. Bossuet supported Joly at his elbow, and the two of them exchanged a calm glance.

“You have a point there,” Bossuet admitted.

Joly shrugged, and then his eyes lit up. “Do you have Scrabble?”

Courfeyrac shook his head, and realized that he’d been tricked into not being able to wallow in self-pity. “I cannot believe—“

“Oh, isn’t that one new show on?” Bossuet burst out. Courfeyrac’s mouth twitched into a smile before he could stop himself, and Joly looked triumphant.

 

Combeferre returned from whatever classes he had around three, and Courfeyrac found himself nervously checking the clock every two minutes. Bossuet picked up on this right away, and snapped his fingers at Courfeyrac the next time it happened.

“Hey. What time does Combeferre get home?”

“Three.” It was two forty-two.

Joly ruffled Courfeyrac’s hair and gestured vaguely. “If you pretend to be asleep, we’ll cover for you.”

Courfeyrac looked at him, not trusting his ears. “Are you serious?”

Joly nodded simply. “This has got to be the worst thing in the world for you. Get comfortable.”

Courfeyrac turned and ended up resting his head against Joly’s leg. “You’re the best.”

Bossuet nodded absently and took Joly’s hand. “Yeah, he is.”

Courfeyrac closed his eyes and tried to get used to it, so that he could be convincing when Combeferre got home. Joly’s free hand started carding through his hair, which helped.

Approximately fifteen minutes later, Courfeyrac heard the front door open, and he involuntarily tensed. Joly made a small hushing noise and put a hand on Courfeyrac’s shoulder as Combeferre’s footsteps approached.

“Oh, hi.” Combeferre sounded a little confused.

“Hi, Combeferre!” Bossuet greeted, and Joly said something similar.

“Your roommate is cute when he’s asleep,” Joly said casually, and Courfeyrac almost sat up in horror to stop him. It was all he could do to keep from blushing or changing his facial expression.

“Uh, I—I don’t…” Combeferre sounded lost.

Joly perhaps noticed this, because he smoothed Courfeyrac’s hair again and moved on. “How was class?”

“It was okay. I have homework to do, it’s nice to see you, though.”

Courfeyrac was worried, because Combeferre was usually more enthused about class. Something was wrong, and thank heavens for Bossuet, because he asked, “Hey, how are you doing?”

Combeferre audibly hesitated, and then Courfeyrac heard him sit down on the armchair that squeaked. “I threw up during Chem because I forgot my painkillers.”

Bossuet said “Aw, Ferre, no…” and Joly made a distressed noise.

“I’m fine,” Combeferre insisted, and Courfeyrac knew that he was cleaning his glasses on the edge of his shirt.

“Can you hug him?” Courfeyrac whispered as quietly as he could, and Joly carefully edged out from under his head. It was lucky for everyone that Combeferre was less than observant when he was tired.

“What are you—“ Combeferre started, and then Courfeyrac assumed that Joly hugged him and cut him off.

“How’ve you been doing, otherwise?” Bossuet asked a few moments later, and Courfeyrac assumed that they’d all hugged each other in a satisfactory manner.

“I think I really forgot a lot of stuff? There’s something huge, but I don’t know what it is. I’ve been doing fine, though,” Combeferre stressed. Courfeyrac started to move, but then remembered.

“It’ll come,” Bossuet promised, and Courfeyrac wasn’t sure who he was reassuring.

There was a beat of silence. “Is Courfeyrac okay?” Combeferre asked, a blatant and desperate subject change. Courfeyrac bristled.

Joly cleared his throat. “You could ask him yourself.”

Combeferre made a confused sound. “He’s avoiding me, I think, and I don’t know what to say.”

“Do you want us to talk to him?” Bossuet asked sweetly, and then Courfeyrac felt a foot on his shoulder, gently kicking at him, and he opened one of his eyes in annoyance.

He heard Combeferre say faintly, “Wait, he hasn’t been sleeping well—“ but Joly talked over him. “Courf, are you avoiding Combeferre?”

Courfeyrac yawned widely and then stared at Joly as miserably as he could. “What?”

“Are you avoiding your roommate?”

Courfeyrac squinted, trying to decide on a polite answer that wouldn’t scare Combeferre away. “No. Are you okay, Ferre?”

Combeferre seemed uneasy. “Yeah. You can go back to sleep, if you want.”

Courfeyrac sat up, trying to act casual. “You look like you’re in pain. Can I make you dinner?”

“That would be nice,” Combeferre said in a smallish voice, and that was all the motivation that Courfeyrac needed.

Joly stayed with Combeferre as Courfeyrac got up and padded to the kitchen with Bossuet in his wake.

Bossuet quietly crossed to the cupboard. He could actually reach the top shelf, and took out the can of Chef Boyardee ravioli that Courfeyrac had been too afraid to climb up on the counter and retrieve.

“Thanks,” Courfeyrac said, and got up on tiptoes to get a pot.

“You need a hand there? Or maybe an extra foot?"

Bossuet looked smug, so Courfeyrac grinned obligingly and stretched out his arm as far as he could, finally reaching what he needed and pulling it off the shelf. “See, I’m very capable,” he pointed out.

“Sometimes,” Bossuet said, and found Courfeyrac’s can opener in a Tupperware in the back corner of the cupboard. “And why.”

Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows and took the Tupperware gingerly. “It was suspicious."

“You’re suspicious.”

“Your mom is suspicious!”

“Your _abuela_ is suspicious!”

Courfeyrac gasped. “You are never getting a Christmas sweater from her ever again!”

Bossuet shook his head frantically. “No! I didn’t mean it!” When he reached out, he knocked the Tupperware out of Courfeyrac’s hands and sent it skittering across the floor.

Courfeyrac screeched. “Boss! It’s getting away!”

Bossuet hopped from one foot to the other uselessly, and Courfeyrac dove after the Tupperware and almost hit his head on the counter.

“What are you doing?” Joly called nervously.

Courfeyrac popped back to his feet with the can opener in hand. “Bossuet is insulting my abuela!”

“Bossuet how could you!”

“I panicked, okay?”

There was a disoriented “Have I met Courfeyrac’s abuela?” from Combeferre, and then a reassuring “Yeah, you went over for Christmas” from Joly.

Opening the ravioli and heating it up went without incident, and soon Courfeyrac presented a bowl of it to Combeferre. “I hope this is acceptable? Bossuet threw the can opener."

“You were actually the one who dropped that,” Bossuet corrected. “And that has nothing to do with the actual food.”

 

Combeferre ate half the food before he said his ribs were hurting and he couldn’t eat any more. Courfeyrac took the bowl and bounded into the kitchen to retrieve Combeferre’s painkillers, which were supposed to be taken after eating.

“We’re gonna roll out,” Bossuet called.

Courfeyrac grabbed the bottle of pills and then ran back out to the living room to hug both Bossuet and Joly. “Thanks for coming over.”

“Are you sufficiently un-funked?” Joly asked. Courfeyrac nodded, and Bossuet fist-bumped him.

“Later, Combeferre,” Bossuet said, putting a gentle hand on Combeferre’s good shoulder.

“Feel better soon!” Joly added, blowing a kiss.

“Are you two going to be safe?” Combeferre got out determinedly, pressing his hand to his ribs. “We can call Grantaire or someone, right?”

Courfeyrac just looked down at his feet, reminded of the fact that Combeferre remembered that Grantaire had a car, but not that Courfeyrac had been his boyfriend.

Joly cleared his throat. “Chetta said she’s driving over to get us in a few minutes.”

“Take it easy, bud.” Bossuet said. When Courfeyrac looked up, Bossuet was looking at him, and not Combeferre.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's actually been like two years since the last update!!! Amazing.

Courfeyrac was doing his long-procrastinated homework when he heard a faint noise of distress from Combeferre’s room. Without hesitation, he threw his textbook aside and ran to Combeferre’s room, then knocked on the door. “Ferre?"

  
“Uh,” Combeferre responded. “Help?”

  
Courfeyrac opened the door and peeked in. Combeferre was stuck with his shirt half-on, the fabric bunched around his head and one arm, the cast preventing him from moving farther.

  
“Oh, wow. Um.” Courfeyrac lifted his hands to help, but then hesitated uselessly for a moment. Combeferre had a _really_ cute tummy. “Stop moving, you’re going to reinjure your shoulder.”

  
Combeferre’s shoulders slumped, and he let Courfeyrac gently pull the shirt over his head and ease it over his cast.

  
“Thanks,” Combeferre said quietly, his cheeks were flushed pink.

  
“Anytime,” Courfeyrac said without thinking, and then felt his ears get hot. “Wait. That’s not--I didn’t mean...”

  
That at least got a smile out of Combeferre. Courfeyrac felt his heart clench, and moved on. “What do you need?”

  
“I’m fine, you should go work on homework…”

  
“Tea it is.” Courfeyrac barely resisted the urge to kiss Combeferre on the forehead, and then retreated to the kitchen before he could embarrass himself further.

  
Courfeyrac spent a few days tiptoeing around Combeferre just enough that it didn’t get super awkward. Combeferre looked healthier every day, and had luckily switched to wearing button-up shirts so that he didn't get trapped again.

  
About a week after the shirt incident, Combeferre came home from class in a rush of excitement. Courfeyrac knew that Combeferre was excited because the pre-med student went directly to the kitchen to get a snack, something that he rarely remembered to do.

  
"How was your day?" Courfeyrac asked, coming over to stand in the kitchen doorway.

  
Combeferre had found the bag of pretzels in the pantry, and held it out as an offering to Courfeyrac. "It was great! I remembered something during my Anatomy class!"

  
Courfeyrac took some pretzels so that he didn't seem rude, but he did it quickly because his hand started to tremble. Combeferre was remembering things. This was good. "And?"

  
"I remembered where I met you!" Combeferre looked triumphant, the roommate mystery apparently finally solved.

  
There was suddenly a lump rising in Courfeyrac's throat, but he made himself keep it together in front of Combeferre, and ate a pretzel. It was stale. "The Shakespeare festival, right."

  
"Right after Enjolras gave his speech while holding a live chicken," Combeferre agreed. After a pause, he said, "I'd really like to get to know you again."

  
"Like, right now?" Courfeyrac asked.

  
Combeferre snorted. "I just think if we’re sharing an apartment, I should know a little more about you.”

  
"Uh." Courfeyrac's head was spinning. This could be his only chance to tell Combeferre the truth. It would be relatively easy to open his mouth and say " _Well, I run an activist group with you and Enjolras, I'm studying to become a social worker, and before your accident, we had been dating for several months, I'm kind of still really in love with you. Also, I'm a Virgo_."

  
None of that would work in a million years, so he just went the safe route. "I'm studying to be a social worker, and I help run that activist group with you and your best friend Enjolras. Speaking of which, there's a meeting tomorrow night and you should come back, they miss you."

  
"Oh, okay. Sure." Combeferre smiled. "Is that the Les Amis d'ABC one?"

  
"Is there another one?" Courfeyrac tried to reciprocate the smile. "I have a paper to write, I'll be in my room if you need anything."

  
"Okay. See you."

  
This whole thing would have been a lot easier if Combeferre wasn't so _nice_.

 

Courfeyrac walked with Combeferre across campus to the meeting at the cafe, then pulled Combeferre over to Enjolras and ditched both of them as politely as possible. This left him without a clear plan as to where to go, and he glanced around the cafe furtively.  
Cosette, Jehan, and Éponine were all talking in a very focused manner. Joly and Bossuet were trying to balance a coin on its side. Marius was completely oblivious to all of this. Courfeyrac's only hope was the table in the back with one empty seat.

  
Bahorel, immediately sensing Courfeyrac's urgency, waved Courfeyrac over to that table, where Bahorel, Grantaire, and Feuilly were sitting. "Courf! Come ref this arm-wrestling match!"

  
None of them had been arm-wrestling. In fact, Feuilly had been staring into empty space and yawning while Grantaire drew on his hands with sharpie, but on cue, both of them sprang into action and started a round. Courfeyrac grinned with relief.

  
Feuilly and Grantaire were a rather even match, though Feuilly was tired and Grantaire eventually pulled ahead. When they were done, Courfeyrac sat down on Grantaire's lap, because he was the closest.

  
"How are you?" Feuilly asked, and slid his drink towards Courfeyrac as an offering.  
Courfeyrac took a sip and sputtered at the taste of plain black coffee.

"Combeferre remembered where he met me," he offered. Grantaire held up his hand for a high-five, and Courfeyrac obliged.

  
Feuilly reclaimed his coffee.

  
"That's good!" Bahorel agreed loudly. "If he's remembering things, it can't be long before he realizes how in love--"

  
"Shut up!" Courfeyrac hissed, at the same time Grantaire shifted and Bahorel winced, apparently having been kicked in the shin.

  
Feuilly gave a sympathetic smile. "It'll come."

  
"That's what everybody keeps saying," Courfeyrac said bitterly, and the four of them lapsed into silence until Enjolras called the group to attention.

  
Usually, Courfeyrac was quick to contribute at these meetings, but this evening, his mind kept wandering and he ended up staying quiet for the whole duration. Grantaire wrapped his arms around Courfeyrac's waist, and Courfeyrac thought he had fallen asleep until Enjolras was abruptly cut off by Grantaire yelling " _Stop_!" which made Courfeyrac jump.

  
Enjolras trailed off, mainly out of surprise.

  
Courfeyrac turned his head and looked at Grantaire, who continued innocently, "Wait a minute!"

  
Combeferre's gaze was fixed on Courfeyrac's table. He seemed a little confused, and it was probably because he couldn't see Grantaire. Courfeyrac waved at Combeferre and Enjolras, the latter of which looked impatient.  
Grantaire peeked over Courfeyrac's shoulder and visibly made eye contact with Éponine, who grinned back at him as he finished, "Fill my cup, put some liquor in it."

  
Enjolras covered his face with his hands and sank into a seat as Courfeyrac brightened and sprang to his feet. "Take a sip, sign the check!"

  
Someone, probably Bahorel, whistled.

  
"Julio! Get the stretch!" came from all corners of the room.

  
"Can we please focus?" Enjolras tried, but Courfeyrac had started dancing, and Grantaire had joined him. It was too late. Despite the fact that none of them had listened to the song in a year now (besides probably Marius?), everyone remembered the words.

  
When Courfeyrac looked over again, Combeferre was watching him with a very intense expression. Courfeyrac accidentally made eye contact, and both of them immediately blushed and looked away.

  
Grantaire offered a hand to Courfeyrac, and Courfeyrac curtsied and took it, glad for the distraction. The two of them tried for an impromptu partner dance, which went surprisingly well until Grantaire dipped Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac lost his balance and yelped as he collided with Enjolras and a chair. The group as a whole seemed to lose the beat and there was a round of laughter.

  
"Nice one," Grantaire said, and pulled a giggling Courfeyrac back to his feet.

  
"You too," Courfeyrac answered.

  
"Did you hit your head?" Joly called. Courfeyrac shook his head and gave a thumbs-up, which Joly reciprocated.

  
"You two are unbelievable," Enjolras grumbled, but Grantaire just blew a kiss at him and Enjolras melted a little, clearing his throat and looking away. “That's a stale meme, anyway.”

  
Bahorel shrieked, “Enjolras just said stale meme!”

  
“Enjolras is a stale meme,” Cosette contributed.

  
Combeferre was shaking his head good-naturedly. Courfeyrac got up the courage to wink at him.

  
  
It took a very long time for Enjolras to get the group back under control after that, which he complained about with a pointed look in Courfeyrac and Grantaire's direction, but once everything was quiet again, it was easier for Courfeyrac to focus.

  
When they were done, Courfeyrac saw Combeferre stand up, and realized that Combeferre would probably want to walk home with him, for convenience's sake. Courfeyrac scanned the room in a panic, spotted Marius, and practically dove towards him. "Marius, I'm walking you home!"

  
"Okay?" Marius responded, clearly a little startled by Courfeyrac nearly tackling him.

  
Courfeyrac helped Marius put his coat on, and then ushered him towards the door, rolling his eyes at Marius's protestations of "Wait, I had a question for Enjolras--"

  
"Please, you only come to see Cosette anyway.”

  
“That's not true,” Marius whined, but didn't put up any more of a fight.

  
The two of them started down the sidewalk. Marius's apartment was very close to Courfeyrac's, which Courfeyrac mentioned casually so that Marius didn't feel like he needed to apologize for the detour.

  
"How've you been?" Marius asked.

  
When Courfeyrac made a high-pitched humming noise, Marius rushed to move on. "That was a bad question, sorry. Sorry.” He stopped talking for a minute, then forcibly changed the subject. “Did you know that bats aren't bugs?"

  
"But they swoop around and suck blood!"

  
"I was just as surprised as you are," Marius said gravely. Courfeyrac couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. "Did I tell you that I'm going to be giving a lecture next week?"

  
Courfeyrac looked over at his friend. Somehow, he had forgotten that life had simply gone on for everyone else. "Seriously? What on?"

  
"It's for Latin. Nothing too interesting," Marius said quickly, but Courfeyrac bumped shoulders with him.

  
"Look at you, Pontmercy, growing up so fast. I'll bring Combeferre and Joly. Text me the time and date, I wouldn't miss it for the world."

  
Marius beamed at him.

  
After a beat, Courfeyrac asked, "How's Cosette?"

  
"She's a literal angel," was all Marius would say on the subject.

  
When they reached Marius's apartment, Marius turned to Courfeyrac awkwardly. "If you need anything, you can call me or come over anytime, or something, if you want."

  
"Thanks," Courfeyrac said.

  
"Well, you probably have Enjolras and some other friends that are more exciting than me, but I care about you a lot, and..."

  
"Thank you." Courfeyrac pulled Marius into a hug. "I'll take you up on that."

  
"Good luck," Marius said. "With everything."

  
"You're so cute," Courfeyrac stated, just because every time he said that, Marius's whole face and neck blushed red. Marius didn't disappoint.

 

Enjolras showed up the next day, at around seven in the evening, and let himself in, because Courfeyrac was on his bed trying to finish his homework. This meant that Courfeyrac just heard the door open, and really hoped that it wasn’t a burglar before saying, “Hello?”  
Combeferre was supposed to be home from class by now, anyway.

  
"Good afternoon." Enjolras yelled from the front door, and was not who Courfeyrac had expected him to be.

  
"Is it?" Courfeyrac asked, and then pulled his blankets around his shoulders.

  
Enjolras sighed, not exactly answering the question. "I brought food, because Combeferre said you keep forgetting to go grocery shopping."

  
Instantly brightening, Courfeyrac leaped out of bed, pulling his blankets with him, running to the living room. He found Enjolras holding a bag from the cafe down the street. "You're the best!"

  
"Yeah," Enjolras replied, and shifted uncomfortably before offering the food. “Can I, uh, talk to you about something?”

  
Courfeyrac’s mood immediately went for the worse, just based on Enjolras’s tone, and he struggled to keep the conversation light. “Can it wait?”

  
“It depends on who you want to hear this from.”

  
Courfeyrac took the food and tried a lighthearted guess. “Feuilly’s moving in with you.”

  
“No--Wait, what are you talking about?” Enjolras was already flustered; this could be fun.

  
“It was just a guessssss.” In the bag, Courfeyrac found a cinnamon roll heaped with frosting and grinned despite himself. “You have a crush on Grantaire and you need help.”

  
“That’s not--”

  
“You’re joining a traveling tap-dancing troupe!”

  
“Courfeyrac--” Enjolras looked genuinely agitated, and Courfeyrac was pretty sure he was taking this too far, but he didn’t care.

  
“You want to learn how to pole-dance? I would love to help, though I don’t personally know how. Maybe try talking to Cosette’s mom--”

  
“Combeferre’s on a date tonight!” Enjolras shouted.

  
Courfeyrac stopped breathing for a moment, and stared at Enjolras. “What?” he asked in a voice that was much smaller than he thought it would be. He cleared his throat, tried to breathe. “What? Ferre doesn’t…”

  
Enjolras cursed under his breath when Courfeyrac set the uneaten cinnamon roll down on the table and averted his gaze to the floor. Courfeyrac was pretty sure that Enjolras’s bad mood wasn’t directed at him, because he hadn’t done anything _wrong_.

  
This thought was what pushed him over the edge, and the next thing he knew, he was being crushed in an Enjolras hug and bawling his eyes out. “I screwed up, I screwed _everything up_.”

  
“This isn’t your fault at all,” Enjolras muttered into his ear, but Courfeyrac kept shaking his head and feeling sobs bubble out of his throat. There’d been a hope in the back of his mind that Combeferre would subconsciously not fall in love with anyone else, but obviously that was just wishful thinking.

  
“It’s just one date, anyway, right?” Enjolras said about a minute later, making a pointed effort to remain positive.

  
Courfeyrac looked at him despairingly. “He’s never even going to look at me ever again.”

  
“That’s a little drastic.”

  
With a deep, shuddering breath, Courfeyrac wiped tears from his face. “Can we go somewhere that isn’t here?”

  
Enjolras nodded immediately, and picked up the bag with the cinnamon roll. “My place?”

  
“Is Cosette home?”

  
“Probably.”

  
“Might as well.” Courfeyrac shrugged, and then headed towards the front door. “I have no dignity left anyway.”

  
“Did you have any to begin with?”

  
Enjolras received a shoe to the face for that.

 

Courfeyrac had barely stepped through Enjolras’s front door when he was almost tackled by a concerned Cosette. “Enj texted me, are you okay?”

  
Courfeyrac put on his most longsuffering face, and let Cosette hug him. “I don’t know.”

  
Enjolras snorted, but seemed to realize that the whole situation was weird and that he shouldn’t make any comments about the level of melodrama. “Do we still have ice cream?”

  
Cosette pulled away from Courfeyrac, and bounded towards the kitchen. “Always!”

  
Once he’d been sat down on the couch with a bowl of ice cream and a twin on either side of him, Courfeyrac felt a little better, but still like his entire life had just fallen apart. “Is it too late to call him and tell him?” he eventually asked.  
Enjolras shook his head. “You could still do it.”

  
Courfeyrac realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that this wasn’t necessarily true. If Combeferre was going out with someone, a declaration of love would be unfair to both Ferre and his date. Also, Combeferre would probably get mad at him for not telling him sooner. “Let’s watch TV?”

  
Cosette reached for the remote and turned on the television, and the three of them sat in companionable silence until Enjolras fell asleep on Courfeyrac’s shoulder and started snoring.

 

The first thing Courfeyrac comprehended in the morning was sunlight streaming directly into his eyes, and he made a soft noise before burrowing further towards whatever he was sleeping on.

  
“Do you mind?” mumbled a distinctly Enjolras voice, and Courfeyrac cracked open an eye to find that he was still on Enjolras and Cosette’s couch. Looking farther around the room, he found Cosette halfway sprawled onto the floor, with one leg thrown over Courfeyrac, and Enjolras similarly stretched out, mostly pinned under Courfeyrac.

  
“No, I don’t,” Courfeyrac answered, and closed his eyes again.

  
Enjolras shifted underneath Courfeyrac’s shoulder, and somehow managed to extract himself. He stretched, and then tried to tame his bedhead with one hand. “Do you want to go out for breakfast?”

  
“What about Cosette?”

  
“Cosette, we’re going to breakfast.” Enjolras reached forward and smacked the bottom of Cosette’s foot, which jerked up and almost caught Courfeyrac in the jaw.

  
Cosette groaned and rolled over, effectively falling completely onto the ground with a painful-sounding thump.

  
Within a few minutes of yawning and trying to figure out how to look presentable to the outside world, the three of them were out the door.  
Cosette took one each of Courfeyrac and Enjolras’s hands, and yawned intermittently as the three of them walked down the sidewalk. It was early enough that there weren’t many people out and about yet, so they could all walk side-by-side.

  
Courfeyrac realized a few blocks later that he had no idea where they were going, but when he faltered, Cosette pulled him ahead again. None of them talked, but Enjolras occasionally snorted and pointed out window displays.

  
“Are you gonna be alright going home after breakfast?” Enjolras asked.

  
Courfeyrac opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by Cosette.

  
“Don’t you dare lie to us,” she warned.  
That made him stop and think for a moment. There was a chance, albeit a small one, that Combeferre had a new significant other, one that wasn’t Courfeyrac. “I don’t know.”

  
“I’ll fight Combeferre if he gets a new datemate.” Cosette squeezed his hand, dead serious. She’d forgotten to brush her hair, and it stuck up a little in random places, but Courfeyrac decided not to point it out. “I'm serious, I can take him, a hundred percent.”

  
“Not if I get to him first,” Enjolras threatened. “I can take him a hundred and _fifty_ percent.”

  
Courfeyrac tried to imagine five-foot-four Enjolras and Cosette taking on Combeferre together. “He's like, seven feet tall. And he wouldn't fight back.”

  
“Because he's a pussy.”

  
“Don't say pussy,” Enjolras snapped.

  
Cosette stuck her tongue out at him.

  
A few more minutes of quiet walking passed by, and then Enjolras said, “Maybe you need to adopt a more direct approach.”

  
“What do you mean?” Courfeyrac asked.

  
Enjolras hesitated, clearly thinking very hard. “Like. I don't know. Find ways to jog his memory.”

  
“Suck his dick,” Cosette said.

  
“Cosette!” Enjolras looked scandalized.

  
“No, that could work,” Courfeyrac mused. Enjolras did have a point. Courfeyrac was hardly doing anything to help Combeferre remember their relationship, he was just making himself miserable. “Got any ideas?”

  
“Suck his dick,” Cosette repeated.

  
Enjolras coolly ignored her. “You know those notes you used to leave him everywhere? Try those again.”

  
Courfeyrac nodded, already feeling better. It was a start, at least.


End file.
